I don’t care if Justin Bieber devotes the remainder of his life to sweeping up leper skin in Calcutta, dudes who insist on being topless will never be saints, just douchebags. I’m talking to you, jogger for whom a t-shirt was adversely affecting your time around the block. Bieber celebrated his 21st birthday by doing what he did for his last five birthdays, taking selfies of himself getting wasted with chicks with big fake asses and banging at least one of the Baldwin daughters. I’m not jealous, I’m only mostly jealous. Fuck, what I could do with all that power and my shirt still on.

It’s not cool to call Justin Bieber gay. First off, being gay is not a slur. Or it is a slur. I can’t remember the current protocol, but I know it’s not right to yell out at somebody who’s merely an asswipe you want to punch in the tiny nose. Secondly, could somebody who’s gay skateboard like this while his new teen model girlfriend clapped? I think not. Still, people along the Venice boardwalk who got to stand behind Justin’s bodyguard and Yovanna Ventura (porn name unintentional) and the rest of the Bieber posse kept yelling out gay slurs at the lesbian midget with his pants hanging down as he perfected one skate move to post in highly edited form Instagram. Later, Bieber hid from the spurious public commentary by ducking behind his normal sized girlfriend and bodyguard with a Tom Thumb like survivalist approach.

Here’s Yovanna Ventura. She’s a good looking girl. Bieber sleeps with bunches of hot women and also undesirable foreign prostitutes who nurse him like his mother never did. So if you call him gay, that only makes you double gay, because he’s rubber and you’re glue and everything you say bounces off of his glistening oversized baby teeth and lands back on you.